


A Moment of Perfect Beauty

by piefight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 17:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4189500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piefight/pseuds/piefight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The light from the fridge was glinting off of a serrated steak knife on the counter. I stared at it for what must have been days, then I set down the unopened ginger ale. There was a pen and pad of sticky notes by the phone. I quickly wrote "I'm sorry. I love you all. I'm sorry about the mess."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment of Perfect Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> A heartfelt thanks to two amazing people who helped me through some very tough memories to write this one.

I shuddered awake, the phantom's laugh still ringing in my ears. I was crying again. I looked at the clock. 4:52am. I sat up, peeling the sheets from my sweat soaked body. Why me? Why was I so stupid? Why wouldn't it just leave me alone? I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. If I squinted, I could see the phantom behind me. I slammed my palm against the mirror and ran downstairs. In the kitchen I opened the refrigerator. I got a can of ginger ale and turned. I stopped. The light from the fridge was glinting off of a serrated steak knife on the counter. I stared at it for what must have been days, then I set down the unopened ginger ale. There was a pen and pad of sticky notes by the phone. I quickly wrote "I'm sorry. I love you all. I'm sorry about the mess," and picked up the knife.

I stood there with the knife blade on my wrist. Then I pushed it down and quickly tore it across my wrist. I only barely kept back the scream. Knowing what to expect, the second wrist was easier. The knife fell from my hand. I held up my arms in front of me and watched the blood flow over my forearms and onto the floor. My knees wobbled and collapsed. I slowly crumpled to the floor as things went out of focus. Then, for the briefest instant, everything I never understood made sense. It was one moment of perfect clarity. And then it all went dark.

~o~

Life struck like a slap in the face. All around me was fuzzy light and  
chaos. People yelling with echoing voices, sudden motion in any  
direction. I though I would vomit. I wanted to vomit, but there was a  
tube in my throat. A blurry face entered my vision, and a bright light  
flashed across my eyes. Somewhere someone was laughing hysterically. Or  
maybe they were crying. I couldn't be sure. I hoped I wasn't dead,  
because this was not how I wanted to spend eternity. I felt something  
bite my arm. I tried to swat at it, but my hands would not move. The  
light began to fade, and I thankfully settled into oblivion.

I surfaced a few more times, and in between I had the weirdest dreams. Then, one at a time, my senses started to return. Smell first. The place had an antiseptic smell to it. Then hearing. There was a lot of subdued activity, and, somewhere nearby, someone was snoring. Then touch. I was between smooth sheets, and very warm. Something was stuck to my forearm and my wrists were wrapped in something. Finally there was sight, but everything was dim. I slowly lifted my head. It was night, and I was in a hospital room. Nearby, my father sat, slumped sideways, asleep in a chair. There was an IV in my arm, and my wrists were bandaged.

I was alive. I couldn't decide if I was relieved or disappointed. I put my head back down, shame and fear settling over me like a black cloud. Now I'd have to tell them. I didn't want to face anyone, but I wouldn't have much choice.

The door opened silently and an orderly entered the room. Seeing that I was awake, he left the room, and a moment later a nurse entered. She checked the IV bag and then pulled a chair up next to the bed.

"Hi," she said. "My name is Wanda. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," I croaked. My throat was raw.

She almost laughed. "That's to be expected. You lost a lot of blood. You're going to be weak for a while." She carefully took my hand in hers. "I'm so glad you're still with us."

"That makes one of us.” 

Her warm smile wavered only for a second. 

"Would you like me to wake your father? He's been very worried about you."

"No. Let him sleep. I need to think."

"Okay. If you need me, just hit this button," she said pointing to the nurse call. I nodded, and she silently walked out. I closed my eyes and started thinking about my options. Before I knew it, I was asleep.

When I woke up, I nearly screamed. Arrayed around the bed was my family; my parents and my two older brothers. They were all staring at me, worried but hopeful. I wanted to say something witty, but instead I went with, "What?!"

Mom sort of collapsed against Dad and burst into tears. Dad just sort of heaved a relieved sigh and smiled. Alan and Mike, my older brothers, asked "How do you feel?" almost at the same time.

I couldn't help it, I just burst out laughing. It hurt like hell to do it, but in a funny way, it felt good too. This just set Mom to crying more. Dad turned to Alan and said "Why don't you boys go down to the cafeteria?" They left.

Mom and Dad looked at me for I don't know how long. They wanted to say something, I could tell, but I don't think they knew what to say.

"Just say whatever you're thinking," I said.

Dad spoke. "Where did we go wrong?"

It wasn't the question I was expecting. "I, uh, don't know what you mean."

"Where did we go wrong? What was so terrible that you couldn't talk to us about it?"

"I don't... It's hard."

Dad took my hand, carefully, and said "James, whatever it is, we can work it out. But you need to talk to us."

I looked up at the ceiling. "I was afraid that I would be alone for the rest of my life."

"You're not alone," said Mom.

"Yeah, I am. I mean, Alan has Ann. They're getting married in a year. Mike has Gloria. But there's no one for me."

"But Bucky, " Dad said, "You're only sixteen. Don't you think it's a little early to decide you'll never meet anyone? I didn't meet your mother until I was in college. There's a girl out there for you. Believe me."

I looked at him. "But that's just it, even if there was someone for me, he wouldn't be a girl."

Dad's grip on my hand faltered for a moment, but then he caught it. "Is that it, then? Are you telling us that you're gay?"

I swallowed. "Yes."

Mom put her hand on Dad's shoulder. She looked suddenly pale.

Dad looked me straight in the eye and said "It doesn't matter. We love you no matter who you are." He looked like he was about to cry. "If you're gay, then you're gay. We can cope. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah."

Mom reached down and put her hand on ours. She was crying softly.

The next day I told Alan and Mike. Mike looked horrified, and then left the room. Alan apologized for him and promised that he could deal with it. Before he left he hugged me. He hadn't done that for years.

That evening, a doctor came in and looked me over, pronouncing that I was healing nicely and was out of continued danger. I'd be really weak for a week or two, but I'd recover fully. Then he gave me the news I'd been dreading. Starting the next day I'd be attending daily therapy sessions until I left the hospital, then I'd see a shrink once a week for a few months. When he told me, he sounded like it was such a good thing, but it was the last thing I wanted to do.

I couldn't sleep that night. The phantom kept me awake, taunting me, laughing at me. He was right. I was a failure.

The next morning, they wheeled me into a room, a white room. Around me were others, some in wheelchairs, some not, some looking scared, some hopeful. They made us tell everyone our names and why we tried to kill ourselves.

"I'm Jennifer Wright. I tried to kill myself because my boyfriend left me when I told him I was pregnant."

I didn't want to be here. I didn't want everyone to know about me.

"My name is Steve Rogers. I tried to kill myself because I destroyed my parents' marriage when I told them I'm gay."

With each person, I got more and more scared. Soon I would have to speak.

"Hi. Andy McGrath. I didn't get straight A's last semester, and I felt like such a failure. I mean, I need to get into a good college—"

I was sweating, I felt trapped. The room started slowly spinning.

"I'm Trish. Trish Green. And I tried to commit suicide because I couldn't live with the guilt. I, uh, I wrecked my car because I was driving drunk, and I killed my best friend."

It was my turn next. Listening to this girl tell her story, listening to her break down and cry, every minute that passed made it that much worse. There was no way out but the truth.

"My name is James—uh, Bucky Barnes, please call me Bucky. And... I tried to kill myself because I didn't want to be alone for the rest of my life. I'm—" I couldn't go on.

The girl next to me, Trish, I think, but her hand on my arm and said quietly "Go on."

"I'm—I'm gay, and I was—" I tried to force myself to say it, but I copped out. "I was afraid there would never be anyone for me." The phantom chuckled condescendingly.

The day went slowly. We talked for, like, two hours. I didn't say much, except when they made me. I was ashamed. This went on for several days. I was in the hospital for about a week. Mom and Dad and Alan visited every day, but Mike only came when Mom or Dad made him, and he sat in the corner and ignored me.

Finally they let me out. I didn't have to go to the group anymore, but I would have to see a shrink once a week for a couple of months. I met with him just before I left. Dr. Smith. Wild red hair, pitted face, kinda weird, but he seemed nice.

When I got home, Alan had to help me into the house. I was still too weak to walk without help, and I couldn't use crutches; my wrists couldn't take the pressure. If I leaned against a wall, or held on to something, I could get around on my own. My strength was slowly returning. After a few days I could walk pretty far, as long as I could touch something for support every few steps.

As far as the family went, Dad and Alan dealt with it the best, they were able to accept me for who I was, and it was only a week or so before they were at ease around me. Mom tried gallantly, but was having more trouble. Mike didn't even try. He tormented me whenever he found me alone. Verbal abuse, mostly, but sometime he pushed me down. He seemed to enjoy when I cried out from the pain in my wrists when I tried to stop the fall with my hands. I knew it wouldn't do any good to tell Mom or Dad about him. He'd just get in trouble and then make my life even worse.

So I did my best to keep out of Mike's way, and when I couldn't, I didn't let him see me cry. Things settled into a pattern. I saw Dr. Smith on Tuesdays, and I wanted to tell him everything, but the phantom wouldn't let me. At home I would hang around Dad or Alan as much as I could. As I said, they had accepted me, though it was never talked about. I don't think they were very comfortable with it.

Tuesday afternoon, after my fourth visit with Dr. Smith, I was sitting in front of the clinic, waiting for Alan to pick me up. I was sitting by an oak tree, watching the ground. There were some ants, working steadfastly, trying to keep the opening to their lair clear after I filled it in.

"Bucky?"

I looked up. Standing on the sidewalk about five feet away was this guy. He was beautiful. For some reason that made me feel guilty.

"Um, yeah? What?"

"Do you remember me?" he said.

"No. Should I?"

"I'm Steve. Steve Rogers. From the group. At the hospital?"

"Oh. Sorry. I don't remember anyone from that, really."

"Oh." He pointed to the ground next to me. "Do you mind if I—?"

"Huh? Oh, I guess not."

He sat next to me. "Smith is your shrink?"

"Smith? Yeah. Total bozo."

"He's pretty good. He can help you if you let him." I didn't say anything. "Look," Steve said, "I think sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who's been through it." He took a pen and piece of folded up paper from his pocket and wrote something on it. "So, if you ever need anyone to talk to, you could call me. If you want." He held out the paper. After a moment, I took it, but still I said nothing. He looked at me for a moment, then said "Well, I have to get home. I mean it, though. Call me if you need anything." He got up and started to walk away.

Watching him go, I suddenly felt like such an asshole. "Hey, Steve!" I called out. He stopped and looked. I could see, even from where I was sitting, that his eyes were a brilliant blue. "Thank you." He smiled and waved, and walked away.

Alan finally got there about 20 minutes later, and we went home. Walking to my room, I stopped at the base of the stairs. Mike was at the top. He stood there for a moment, giving me a look of such disgust, then he started down. I moved to the side. As he passed me he said "Out of my way, faggot." and walked a few more steps. Then he stopped. He didn't look at me, but he said "You know, it would have been better if you'd died. Then we would have never known about you and we would have been sorry you were dead. Now I can't stand to look at you." He walked away.

Upstairs, I went into the bathroom, and forced myself to look in the mirror. Mike was right. It would have been better if I'd died. I couldn't stand to look at me either. I mean, what was there to look at. I was pale. I looked malnourished. And hair was too long. I mean, yeah, I could do something about that, but what? Cut it short again? _Smile_ again? The girls at school liked that. That made my stomach hurt. No, I wouldn’t change it. Right now it just fell straight down and was cut straight across at my jaw line. It was always getting in my face and I had to hook it behind my ear, which looked pretty dorky, but, I don't know.

"Why do you bother?" asked the phantom. "No one will ever care about you."

I hated him. Because he was right.

I opened the medicine cabinet, and the first thing that caught my eye was a bottle of sleeping pills. I closed it quickly and ran to my room, crying.

That night I had disturbing dreams. I can't remember much about them, but I can remember Mike's back, Mom's tears, and the bottle of sleeping pills. When I woke up I was covered in sweat and stuck to the sheets. I showered and went downstairs. Mom, Dad, and Alan were at work. I don't know where Mike was, but a quick search of the house showed he wasn't there.

As I was walking back to my room, I glanced into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet was partly open.

~o~

21 pills, all in a row. They were carefully lined up on the edge of the  
table by my bed. I was lying on my stomach at an angle across my bed. My  
arms were at my sides, and I was looking up at the pills, which were  
about five inches from my face.

21 pills. Would they be enough? I reached up and took one. I rolled it between my fingers for a moment. "More beer?" the phantom offered. Shame washed over me like stagnant water. I swallowed the pill dry.

20 pills, all in a row. I took one and rolled it between my fingers. "You're pretty cool," said the phantom. I swallowed the pill.

19 pills, all in a row. I took one and rolled it between my fingers. "You're looking kind of green. Do you want to lie down? My room is just upstairs." The phantom was so concerned. I swallowed the pill.

18 pills, all in a row. I took one and rolled it between my fingers. Beyond the pill, I saw the phone. I got up, pissed as hell. I threw the pill across the room. I grabbed the rest and threw them as well. I picked up the phone and searched my pockets for the number. I dialed and waited.

"Hello?" said a woman's voice with a Brooklyn accent.

I controlled my voice enough to say "Is Steve there?"

"Just a minute." She sounded so cheerful. How could she?

"Hello?" It was Steve.

"Steve, this is Bucky. I really need to talk to you." My control collapsed and I was crying by the time I finished the sentence.

"Bucky, what's wrong?"

"I need to talk to you. I almost did it again. Can you come over here?"

"Yeah, I'll be right there."

"Okay. Hurry." I started to put down the phone.

"Bucky!" his voice called from the phone. I brought it back to my ear.

"What?"

"Tell me your address." I did, and he hung up. I went downstairs and waited in the living room. About 10 minutes later, the doorbell rang.

"Come in!" I yelled.

The door opened and Steve walked in. He sat next to me and took my hand. "What did you do?"

"Pills. I got some sleeping pills. I took three of them."

"Where's your bathroom?" I pointed down the hall. "Come on." He stood and pulled me by the hand. I followed. He opened the lid on the toilet and said "Can you make yourself vomit?"

"I don't think..." Before I could finish the sentence, he stuck his hand in my mouth and pushed his fingers against the top of my throat. I gagged and vomited. I managed to get most of it in the john. When I was finished I sat by the toilet and said "Jesus Christ, you didn't have to do that. I could have managed."

He sat next to me. "Sorry. I don't know if three pills could hurt you, but I didn't want to find out. How do you feel?"

"My throat hurts."

"Besides that."

"Fine I guess."

"Good. Now, what the fuck do you think you were doing?" I just looked away. He took my hand. "What is it? Will you tell me? Please?"

"No one gives a damn about me."

"That's not true."

"Yeah, it is."

"I give a damn."

I looked at him. "Why?"

"Because I do."

"That's not much of an answer."

"Damn it, Bucky, I left my own birthday party to come here. What more do you want?"

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you."

He laughed. "You are so stupid, you know that? I don't mean that really, it's just that what you just said was stupid." He put an arm around me. "Look, you're a good guy, you know? I like you, and I'd like to have a chance to be your friend. Will you at least hold off long enough for that to happen?"

I felt comfortable, even safe, in his arm. I melted against his side. "I might be more trouble than I'm worth."

"Not so far. Hey, why don't you come back with me? To the party. We're going to barbecue hamburgers."

"Thanks, but I'd be too embarrassed."

"Why?"

"They'd all know what I did."

"I didn't take the time to tell anyone. I just ran out of the house. No one will know. Besides, I'd like to keep an eye on you. Just to be sure the pills aren't still in there, you know?"

I smiled. "Okay. Let me wash up and change clothes."

"Okay." He looked around him. "I'll clean this up," he said, pointing to the small amount of vomit that didn't make it into the toilet.

"Oh, no, I will. It's mine." I grabbed some toilet paper and scooped it up. "Hey," I said, holding it out for his inspection. "Here's one of the pills!”

~o~

The party was fun. We had hamburgers and cake, and we sang happy  
birthday. Afterwards he drove me home. As I was getting out of the car,  
he said "Hey."

I stopped. "What?"

"Thanks for coming."

"Uh, yeah, you're welcome."

“Can I call you tomorrow? We'll do something."

"Okay. Look, I'm really sorry I scared you earlier. And I'm sorry I pulled you away from your birthday."

"You know, in a weird sort of way, I'm almost glad you did."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Don't do it again. I'll call you."

"All right. Bye."

"Bye."

When I walked into the house, my mother called from the kitchen "Where have you been?"

"My friend Steve's house. It's his birthday," I said as I walked into the kitchen.

"How old is he?"

"Seventeen."

"Oh, that's nice. Are you hungry?"

The back door opened, and Mike came in.

"Hi dear," Mom said. "I was about to make Bucky a sandwich. Do you want one?" I looked down at the table. She had drawn his attention to me, but maybe if I didn't look at him he'd lose interest.

"No thanks. I'm not hungry." He walked across the kitchen towards the rest of the house. As he passed between me and Mom he said "Hey, faggot."

I didn't see the slap, but I heard it. I looked up. Mike was looking at Mom, stunned, his hand on his cheek. I'd never seen Mom look so angry, she was scary. "If I ever hear you talking to your brother like that again I will make you wish you had never been born. Do you understand me?" Mike just nodded. "All right. It's going to be at least a month before you can use the car again."

"What?" Mike sounded mad.

"Six weeks. Say something else. Just try me." Mike didn't say anything. "Get out of my sight." Mike backed away from her, then hurried out of the kitchen. Mom looked at the door for a long time, and after a few minutes, a tear fell from her eye.

I stood. "Mom?" She looked at me for a second, then began crying. "Mom? Are you okay?" She walked over and took me into her arms. After a moment I returned the hug.

"I'm so sorry, Bucky." She hugged me tighter. "I'm so sorry. I never stopped to think what you must be feeling, what you must be going through."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I've been trying so hard to figure out why this happened, how this happened, but that's not important, is it? It's just the way it is. Your dad and Alan have been trying to make this easy for you, but I've been so wrapped up in my own worries—. And Mike, he's been a complete jerk to you, hasn't he? I'm sorry. That ends now."

"I can deal with Mike."

"If he says anything like that again, I want you to let us know."

"All right."

She broke the hug and made me a sandwich, and we sat in the kitchen and talked for a long time.

~o~

It was two weeks later, a Friday evening around 9:00pm. I was skating  
up 17th Ave. I glance behind quickly. Steve was right there, a look of  
comic determination on his face. I pushed forward harder, but I could  
hear him gaining on me. He passed me at the 3-way stop at the  
intersection of Cadman Plaza and Clark Street. About a hundred feet later, he  
rolled to the left side of the road, jumped up on the sidewalk and  
rolled off into the grass at the park. I jumped up on the sidewalk and  
skidded to a stop. He collapsed theatrically in the grass, and lay  
there on his back, arms out to his sides.

I stood on the sidewalk and studied him for a moment. For the past two weeks Steve had been my constant companion. Starting on his 17th birthday, the day he stopped me from trying to kill myself a second time, we'd been together every day. We'd seen movies, we'd gone skating, we'd played basketball, we'd just sat around and talked. At first, I think, he was looking out for me, making sure I wasn't gonna try anything stupid, but after a couple of days, he hung out with me because we were friends.

I walked over and sat next to him.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"We could go home. It's just a couple more blocks."

"I know," he said. "But I don't want to yet. Your family kind of overwhelms me. And I don't think Mike likes me."

"Mike's an asshole."

He laughed, then said "Besides, it's nice here."

"Yeah." We were sitting almost directly under the Manhattan Bridge, watching the dogs play around in the dog run nearby. A cool breeze was blowing, and the leaves in the trees chattered quietly.

Steve turned his head and looked at me. "Bucky?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you." I just looked at him for a moment, then I started to smile. I tried to stop, because it was a broad goofy smile, but I couldn't help it. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding a little panicked, "I shouldn't have said that. I've ruined everything, haven't I?"

"No," I said. "No, you haven't."

"You mean it? It's okay? Because I was serious. And I'm not sorry it happened."

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Cool." He reached over and took my hand.

We looked at each other for a few minutes. I looked at his face, his beautiful, handsome face, and his perpetually surprised blue eyes, his warm, sincere smile. 

"I love you too, Steve." His only reaction was to tighten his grip on my hand.

The phantom turned in his sleep.

~o~

Our first kiss was two days later. It wasn't very good, so we worked on  
it for about an hour. From then on we were together almost every waking  
moment. School was a mere two weeks away, so our time together had an  
almost desperate feel to it.

Six days after the kiss the phone rang. Alan answered, then yelled that it was for me. I went into the hall and got it.

"Hello?"

"Hi."

"Hey, Steve. Where are you? You're late."

"I know, I'm sorry. Look, there's something I've been wanting to ask you."

"What is it?"

"It's kinda hard. I've wanted to ask you for the last three days, but I couldn't. Not to your face."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, it's, um, what I mean is, would you, um... Can we, you know, um, I want us to... to..."

"Steve, are you asking..."

"Will you have sex with me?" His words were quiet and rushed.

I just stood there, stunned, not knowing what to say.

"Bucky—? Bucky?"

"Oh! Sorry. Do you really want to?"

"Yeah, if you do."

"Um, okay. When?"

"Tonight?"

"Okay. We can't here." I looked around to be sure no one could hear. "Everyone is home."

"Yeah, same here. I can get the car, though. You know that old warehouse past Hudson?

"Um, you mean the one by the Navy Yard?"

"Yeah."

“You… wanna do it there?"

"Can you think of a better place?"

"Um — no, I guess not."

"Then you'll do it?"

"Um, yeah, okay."

"Cool. Do you have a sleeping bag?"

"Yeah. I don't know if I can get it out of the house without anyone asking questions, though."

"Oh. Okay, um, you could drop it out your window and get it when you're outside."

"Yeah, that'll work."

"So, you'll ready in an hour?"

"Yeah. Um, should I, you know, wear anything special, or—or bring anything, or—"

"No, nothing special, just as you are."

"Well, then I guess I'm ready whenever."

"All right, I'll see you in an hour, then."

"Okay. Bye."

It was the longest hour of my life. I sat in my room, thinking about doing this or that, but not doing it. I was excited, and nervous, and worried. I was afraid, really. Would I be able to go through with it? I mean, I loved Steve and I wanted to please him, but I didn't know if I was ready. Waiting for that hour, that lifetime to pass, I went through the whole range of emotions. I was so happy I wanted to laugh, I was so scared I wanted to cry.

It happened that the doorbell rang during a scared phase. I waited in my room, almost dreading his arrival, and when he came in, he looked as nervous as I was.

"Hi. You ready?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"You sure? You look kind of sick."

"No, I'm fine… I'm just really nervous."

"Yeah, me too. You, uh, you look really good."

"You do too."

"Yeah, whatever."

"I mean it. You do."

"Really? Do you mean it?" He was smiling hopefully.

"Yeah, it's like — fuck, you’re so goddamned beautiful, Stevie. But you don’t even know it. So I say you look good. You look like someone I can trust. Someone who will be good to me."

His smile widened. "I love you, Bucky."

"I love you, too,” I said softly. I felt a little embarrassed at my outburst, though it seemed to go over well.

"I'm not as nervous anymore. Shall we go?"

I worried my lips nervously. "Yeah, let's go." I got up and followed him to the door. "Wait." I stopped. "The sleeping bag." I opened my window and dropped the sleeping bag outside, then we left. We nervously retrieved the sleeping bag from the lawn and then were on our way.

It was a ten minute drive, mostly quiet. Every once in a while, he'd look at me with those blue eyes and smile, or give my hand a quick squeeze, but neither of us said anything.

The warehouse was next to some rough looking buildings. It looked as though no one had been inside in years, like it would collapse any moment. It had once been red, but was now mostly gray, and in the dull light of the unkept lampposts it was black. Steve parked between the warehouse and the unused industrial building next to it, so the car couldn't be seen from the street, and we got the sleeping bag and a flashlight and walked into the warehouse. Dusty beams of streetlight shot down from holes in the dirty windows, and lit a couple of places with a dim glow. Strangely enough, this only made it harder to see. Steve turned the flashlight on, and we found a spot for the sleeping bag. We opened it out and laid it down. He flashed the light around the warehouse, then turned it off and dropped it next to the sleeping bag.

"You, um, ready?" he asked.

"I'm nervous. I mean, what if we do something wrong? What if it... What if it's bad?"

"Hey, we figured out kissing, didn't we?" A confident grin spreading across his youthful face.

I laughed. "Yeah, I guess we did."

"You guess?" He walked over to me, put his arms around me and held me tightly against him. "You guess?" He kissed me, again and again, and I kissed him back. Finally he took his mouth from mine, he kissed my cheek, my jaw, my neck. "You guess?"

"Yeah, we figured it out all right."

Steve sat on the sleeping bag. "You wanna do it?" He held his hand out to me.

I took his hand and sat next to him. I pushed him slowly over on his back, and straddled him on my elbows and knees. We kissed again. As we kissed, he pushed my shirt up and rubbed my chest and back. Then he undid the button and zipper on my jeans. He started to work his hand into my boxers, and then the phantom came roaring and spitting fire from the back of my mind. My whole body convulsed, I yelled "NO!" and I stood and ran to the other side of the warehouse.

"Bucky?" He pushed himself up and walked toward me. "Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

I was standing, leaning against the warehouse wall, my face hidden in my hands, crying.

"Bucky? Are you all right?"

"No," I sobbed. "I mean, yeah. I'm sorry, I can't do this. Not yet. I'm really sorry. I know you want to, but I can't. I'm sorry."

"No, Bucky, if I'm pushing you too fast, tell me." He pressed himself against my back, put his arms around me and laid his head on my shoulder. "I love you, Bucky, and I want to have sex with you, but if you're not ready I can wait."

I turned in his arms and hugged him back. "You're so good to me. You should find someone who's ready for you."

"No. If I found someone else, he wouldn't be you. I'll wait."

I squeezed him tighter. "I'll try to hurry. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sorry I pushed you.”

~o~

Over the next several days, whenever we weren't together, Steve called me  
at least once an hour. It was like he wanted to be sure that I didn't  
think he was mad or something. Finally, I just said to him "Look, Steve,  
if I just have sex with you, will you shut up and get back to normal?"

He was silent for a moment, then said "I'm not trying to push you."

"I know, but you're driving me insane, and the only way I can think of to shut you up is to sleep with you. I think I'm ready."

"You're not just saying that."

"No, I'm not."

"You mean it?"

"Yeah, I mean it."

"All right. Um, where should we do it? Do you want to try the warehouse again?"

"No, not the warehouse. Um, can you stay the night? Alan’s a manager at that coffee shop on Jay Street, and I kinda swiped his keys.”

Steve looked momentarily horrified, but a mischievous smile eventually won out. ”I didn’t know you had it in you, Barnes. What about the windows? And… is that sanitary?”

I rolled my eyes. “There’s an upstairs loft, idiot,” I smiled at him. “So, um, can you meet me there tomorrow evening, maybe about nine?"

"Meet you? I could go with you."

"No. I want to go out there first and, I don't know, get ready. I'd like to prepare for it by myself. Get centered there, or something."

"Okay, but you'll have to give me directions."

"Don't worry. It’s easy to find."

Steve smiled. “Okay… You know, you don't have to do this."

"I want to."

"You sure."

"Yes. Tomorrow at nine. Be there."

"Okay. Tell me where to go."

~o~

The coffee shop was spacious, even for Brooklyn. It was handsome and well-appointed, with pieces matching that “rustic urban-barn” look that’s been trending lately. Luckily the street was quiet this time of night. You could hardly hear a sound up in the roomy loft overlooking the open space.

Where was he? I paced back and forth for a few minutes, then I heard three feint knocks coming from the back door. Suddenly I was petrified. After an eternity, I walked down the loft’s stairs and went out to the back to let Steve in.

He was smiling and it made my stomach flip. "Hi," he said, and dropped his pack and sleeping bag next to mine.

“Hi,” I smiled nervously. 

"Well," he began, "should we do it?"

"I don't know. Do you want to go straight—? Should we have something to drink? I brought some cans of Sprite, we could—. There are chips in—. I mean maybe I can figure out how to make coffee or tea without anybody noticing—is that stealing? I could leave a dollar or two—”

"Are you nervous?” he smiled at me, warmer and more gentle than I could remember.

"Me? Nervous? God, yes."

He laughed. "You want to know a secret?"

"What?"

"I'm scared to death. I almost didn't come."

"You?"

"Yeah. I mean, what if I do something wrong? This is our first time. I want it to be perfect."

I licked my lips. "Do you want to, maybe, hold off a bit longer?"

"No. I mean, unless you do. I want to do it, but I don't want to if you don't. I don't want to rush you. I love you, Bucky, and I want to be as close to you as possible. But I can wait a little longer if I have to."

I licked my lips again. "Let's eat something first, okay?"

"Sure," he said. We got the chips out of my pack, and sat munching. Steve scooted over and sat next to me. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What is it?"

"I love you." I smiled, blushed, and looked down. "I love it when you do that," he said. "You're cute when you're shy." He took my chin in his hand and kissed me, just a quick kiss.

"Mmm. Nacho cheese," I said. He laughed.

"I mean it, though," he said.

"I know." I held out my hand, and he took it. After a few minutes, and several more nacho cheese flavored Doritos, I said, "I think I'm ready."

"You sure?"

"No, but there's only one way to find out." I started unbuttoning my shirt. When it was open, I untucked it and and started to push it off one shoulder.

"Wait," said Steve. I looked at him, my shirt hanging off one shoulder. "Can I, um... Can I touch you?" He was pointing to my chest.

"Yes."

His hand shook as it approached my chest. Slowly it came closer, palm forward, fingers spread, until it stopped, half an inch away. I looked up at him. He was staring at his hand, then he looked up and our eyes locked. I gave a small nod, and then felt his hand, the feather touch of his fingertips first, then the palm. I closed my eyes when he touched me. His trembling hand stopped at my skin, but his touch went much deeper. I heard his voice, innocent and wonderstruck, say "I can feel your heartbeat." I put my hand over his and opened my eyes. His eyes were practically glowing, and he was smiling as if he could not believe what was happening.

I closed my eyes again, and took and held a deep breath. In my mind I repeated that I loved him and I trusted him a few times, then I let the breath out.

"Steve?" I said.

"Yeah?"

I took his hand from my chest, and held it in mine. "The other night. In the warehouse?"

"I told you not to worry about that. I was—"

"Let me say this," I interrupted, "or I might never be able to again." I waited for a moment. He was silent. "About a year ago, I—. This guy I—" I took another deep breath and released it. "Well, I was raped. Just put it that way."

"What?!" He sounded stunned.

"I was at this party. I shouldn't have been there, everyone was older than me. It was a college party, a frat party. I thought it would make me cool or something. They let me drink, even though I'm underage. I got a little drunk. I'd never been drunk before. But there was this guy there, he was really nice, and good looking, not like, you know, hot or anything, but good looking. And he talked to me and kept getting me more beer and I thought he thought I was cool." My voice started shaking, and I looked off into the distance and continued with a deliberate rhythm. "He invited me to go up to his room, and I did. He closed the door and started undressing and talking like we were going to—to have sex." I stopped talking for a minute. I was breathing so fast I felt light headed. I got that under control, and went on. "That really scared me because I didn't know what he wanted and I didn't want to do it. So I told him I didn't want to and he said it was too late, that he'd put the time in and I was damn well going to, so I try to get out but he grabs me and he's, like, twice my size and tosses me around like a rag doll, he holds me down on the bed and pulls my pants down and holds me down and... fucks me. And the whole time he's doing it I'm crying, it hurt more than anything else, and not just pain, but, you know, emotional pain too, and before he, you know, he pulled out and turned me over and went back in and when he—he… finished he looked into my eyes like he hated me, or like an animal and then he made me get dressed and leave and everyone looked, they knew what happened and they were laughing—" My voice trailed off. After a few moments of silence, I looked up at Steve. There were tears in his eyes. He was holding my hand so tight it almost hurt.

"Oh God, Bucky, why didn't you tell me? I had no idea. I—"

"I couldn't tell you. I was afraid you'd hate me."

“Oh, Bucky," he said. He leaned close and put an arm around me. I buried my head in his shoulder and started crying. He took his hand from mine and put his other arm around me.

Still crying, I started talking again. "I felt all alone after that," I sobbed. "There was no one I could talk to, no one who would understand. No one knew I was gay then, and I was so afraid to tell anyone."

"And that's why you did it, isn't it?" asked Steve. "Because you needed someone and no one was there."

“Yeah." I let out a shaky breath.

He let go of me and sat up. I looked at him and he met my gaze with an intensity that was almost anger. "I will always be here for you. You can tell me anything and be assured that I will never tell anyone. Do you understand?" I nodded. "Good. Because if you were to kill yourself it would kill me too." He took me back into his arms.

I don't know how long we stayed that way. My arms were cramped and my back hurt, but I would not have changed it for anything. We rolled out the sleeping bags and zipped them together, then stripped to our boxers and crawled in. We lay on our backs, side by side, hand in hand. We lay there silently for a while.

"You cold?" said Steve.

"No."

"I am. Can I—Could we get closer?"

"Sure." He scooted closer to me. "Roll up on your side." I did, and he pressed his body against my back. "Your back is warm." He put an arm over my side and held me snugly.

"I love you, Steve."

We must have dozed off, but we were safe—the clock said 11:42pm. I was on my back. Steve lay on his stomach beside me, his head on my chest and his arm around me. How did we move so much in such a short amount of time, I wondered. I put my hand on his back, and ran a finger down his spine. He shivered and opened his eyes.

"I was having the best dream," he said. "We were on an island somewhere, all by ourselves. Except for the parrots. There were lots of parrots… Do you think that means anything?"

"Maybe you like parrots."

"Never mind. This is better." He tightened his arm around me. "What should we… Do you want to—Do you want to do it?"

"Can you wait a little longer?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. I still have my hand."

I snorted. "All right, let's just do it."

"You mean it? You're not just doing this for me?"

"I'm doing this for you, because I want to."

And we did it. It was awkward and clumsy, and the most beautiful thing I'd ever done. There was a moment of anxiety when he entered me, but he was caring and gentle, and I felt safe beneath him. My breathing and his grunting mixed with the soft and sturdy ticking of the antique clock downstairs. And then we lay, breathless and satisfied, naked beneath wooden beams and metal, arms, legs, and spirits entwined. It was one moment of perfect beauty.

But, as all moments do, it passed. As days, then weeks, then months went by, we made love again and again, but it was always the night at the coffeeshop I remembered most, because while it might not have been the first time I had sex, it was the first time I made love, which is a distinction larger than I can explain. Laying beneath Steve as he slowly came down from his orgasm, I knew that the phantom was gone, that with Steve's help, I had killed him.

If you give something a name, you take away it's power. When I told Steve about the rape, I took the phantom's power. He no longer had anything to hold over me. I know that, sooner or later, I would have tried again, but I trusted Steve enough to tell him my darkest secret, and then that secret, though still painful, lost much of it's power. The next Tuesday, I told Dr. Smith, and, for the next several weeks, we worked it out together. Maybe he wasn't such a bozo after all.

~o~

Steve and I stayed together for two and a half years, until college took us to opposite ends of the country. Breaking up with him was tough, and I let it affect me too much. I nearly flunked out of college the first term, but I got my act together and did well the next term, and got out of academic probation. The next summer we were together again, and it felt so right that he changed schools. We've been together ever since.

Right now, the room is lit in the ghostly light thrown off by my monitor. Steve, my first and only love, is asleep about five feet from me. I wish you could see him, he looks so beautiful. He's starting to stir. I'll end this now, because I want to be next to him when he wakes up. Thank you for listening.

_Bucky Barnes-Rogers_


End file.
